making up for pictureless posts

Here’s a picture of Violet’s birthday cupcake. I made 28 of these babies. yes, i know…it’s awesome.

Here’s the birthday girl eating a banana and standing like a pro.

The whole fam damily.

Violet is quite possibly the cutest thing ever…

3 things:

first, that post about the “Fat Monkey” was the fruition of a dream. that dream being the submission of an original creation to thisiswhyyourefat.com. Just wanted to clarify, we aren’t actually wanton gluttons.

second, yesterday was Violet’s first birthday (as if you didn’t know, right?) and I have some pretty cute birthday pictures, but you’ll have to wait until i go get the camera from downstairs…tomorrow.

Third, yesterday on a walk, I saw a bumper sticker on a cop car that read, “My next police car will have a hemi.”

birth day

Violet was born with her eyes open.

“Okay, this is it, no more waiting!“

My breath was coming in ragged gasps now that the oxygen mask had fallen off. The room was suddenly full of people waiting and watching.

“The cord must be getting mashed; the baby’s heart rate keeps dropping.”

“Are you ready to move to the ICU as soon as it’s born?

“Get that oxygen over here, now!”

The dull buzz of conversation was secondary to the hammering of my heartbeat as I fought to control the waves of pain, fear, and fear of pain. Only moments ago, there had just been the three of us in this room, but now that my baby’s heart rate was fluttering erratically, the nurse had hit the alarm button and every specialist on staff had raced to our room.

“Listen to me now, you can’t push just with the contractions any longer–don’t stop pushing.”

The urgency in my nurse’s voice fueled my determination as I willed my body to do everything necessary to keep my baby safe. Never mind that I had just re-realized that what goes up must come down, or in this case–what grows to be 6 pounds, 6 ounces, must now physically traumatize my body.

I had always wanted to be a mother, growing up with seven younger siblings. Not that I always liked my siblings, but I just figured that it’d definitely be something I’d like to do someday. That someday became a someday soon after AJ and I had been married for a couple of years, and realized that we wanted to look into the eyes of someone that was a perfect mix of the two of us. There’s probably an instance in every new parents’ life where they look at their baby and then each other, and exclaim, “Look what we made!”

I could feel the blood vessels in my eyes straining with my efforts. I knew my face must have been completely purple because they told me to hold my breath when I was pushing, in order to make it more effective.

“Push harder!”

I turned my head to look at the male pediatrician who was waiting in case there was a problem as he spoke. Oh really? you wanna come over here and show me how it’s done? I thought to myself as I glared back at him. It’s funny to me (now) that I could have actually been mad at that moment, because every cell of my body was convinced that this was the moment of my death, and (newsflash!) death hurts–real bad.

In the next second, I realized three things. One, the worst was over and I was not dead. Two, everyone was silent. And three, Violet’s eyes were open and looking around in curiosity. I gave a final heave of effort, and was greeted with a flurry of activity as Violet started crying and the pediatrician and other NNICU specialists hurried to make sure all her vital signs were present and accounted for.

5:47 pm

The Fat Monkey

Let me explain…

Tonight I had the most amazing dessert I have EVER EVER EVER had in my whole entire life. I do not exaggerate here. It was the most complete perfection of crunchy, chewy, chocolatey, gooey goodness there has ever been.

Here’s a story in pictures.

First, I made unbelievably amazing chocolate chip banana bread.

Next, I took two frozen slices of said bread, and sandwiched cut bananas in between with Nutella on one side and marshmallow cream on the other side.

Then, I dipped the entire sandwich into yellow cake batter until the whole thing was drenched.

After that, I deep fried it.

Here’s what it looked like afterwards:

Yes, there’s more. The whole thing gets covered in melted chocolate.

Then I covered it in toasted coconut and almonds. Here it is after the chocolate set.

Finished! Now, you can do one of two things; you can either go into your kitchen and make one of your own, or you can order one from me and I will make you one. Each large two person serving (shown) will be $10, or you can order a half portion for $5. AJ and I just finished splitting a half-portion (amazing).

So much for that…

Ok, so I know I said I was going to post a real blog today, but the internet got the better of me. Today’s blog goes out to ThereIFixedIt.com

This, this, and this, are all shining examples of human ingenuity. Also, shining examples of people you may not want contributing to the gene pool.

In Baby News, I was at Gap today and Violet was growling at strangers. She did walk on the 4th, but being the sharp little cracker she is, she has now pretended to forget her earlier achievement so that we can still carry her everywhere.

Anyway, today’s blog is really about pet peeves. Specifically, drive through banking and how it affects the person behind you. I hate waiting as much as the next person, but I do find it perfectly acceptable to wait in line behind someone while they fill out their deposit slip instead of having it on them and filled out before they got to the window. My sister and I were talking about people that have made us mad lately, and we discovered that both of us have recently been chewed out by women old enough to be our mom and should therefore know better; because we were taking too long in the drive through lane. In my case, the lady rolled down her window (she was in the opposite lane) and proceeded to inform me of proper drive-though etiquette.My sister’s case was funnier though, because once she was done with her transaction and driving through the parking lot, the lady behind her had gotten out of line, and walked over to yell at her for taking “3-5 minutes for the transaction instead of the normal 1-2.” We agreed that we’re not mad at them anymore; menopause probably sucks.

Which brings me to this:

If I had a super power…

It would be dirty looks. I know, maybe not the greatest skill in the books, but I use it frequently when out and about with Violet in the stroller. I call it my “super power” because I get results every time. I figure, worst case scenario–the driver gets offended, but at least I get their attention.

(I may or may not use said super power when driving, or when someone tries to cut in line…)

tomorrow i will post a real blog, i promise.

Repeat Offender

Violet pooped in the tub…again. This is officially the third time. It was cute the first time. Actually, it was cute this time too, because she pooped and then saw her poop in the water and got scared of it.

The not cute part? getting her cleaned up so fast and downstairs for the rest of the day so that I forgot to clean the tub. till now. it dried

she pooped

while splashing in the tub

i laughed

and bundled her in a towel

after a dip in the sink

dressed and clean

mom forgot

the poop was still there

suprise!

it dries…

there, a mock haiku.

because I have nothing better to say

Sometimes all you need is a reminder that life is funny.

Murphy\’s Law in pictures

It’s fitting, really

Today is the fourth of July. Violet was due a year ago today, so I guess it’s fitting that she should decide to start walking. It’s very very cute.

I also wanted to gloat about buying cheese to support my cheese obsession. I took a picture to prove to you that in my fridge right now, I have pepper jack, colby jack, aged white cheddar, medium cheddar, colby–all two pounders, all tillamook. I can’t refuse a good deal when it has to do with cheese. (the picture is still on my camera because it’s downstairs and i’m lazy)

I wish I had the time an energy to blog about the significance of this day to me–I am a patriot after all, but it’s been a long day, and tomorrow is looking the same.

Good night, and have a happy summer!

of women and childbearing

I just got home from a barbecue and noticed a strange coincidence.  If you get women with small children or babies together, odds are that 75% of them will reference childbirth or labor at one point or another during their visit.

It’s not that they are creatively trying to find sick and twisted methods of population control, it’s just that when such a traumatic incident is still so fresh in your mind everything still relates to it.

“Exactly! Like when I was in labor with…”

or “Speaking of tired, after 17 hours of pushing…”

or (and best yet), “…and now I just can not seem to hold it in! I mean, I seriously have to go to the bathroom before I jump rope if I don’t want to wet my pants…”

I realize that I am very guilty of this, (not the wetting the pants part) but my excuse is that I’m trying to keep the trauma fresh in my mind for future reference. For women, labor stories are like a man’s fishing story of the one that got away. They always get more dramatic with the telling.

Side note: if you are a man, this does in no way give you leave to make less of your wife’s labor story. If you suspect she is exaggerating details, you must only sympathize more.

Other side note: if you are a woman and have never had a baby, I was just kidding about all that stuff–go ahead and have one, I’m sure everything will be just fine.